


Father's Day

by Koeji



Category: Tales of Xillia
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, child Ludger and teen Julius (not underage incest!)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4209066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koeji/pseuds/Koeji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blame genetics, he thinks; maybe the men of their family line aren't meant to ever grasp the meaning of fatherhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father's Day

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I wrote this on Father's Day, but then time got away from me. Just something silly and self-indulgent loosely based on a running joke about this ship with friends. Happy belated dad day, everyone!!

"What's this?"

"It's for you!"

"I understand that, Ludger, but what is it?"

A flush creeps over Ludger's cheeks as they puff in consternation. He’s good at this kind of communication, Julius is forced to admit. Or rather, after living with such a silent child for over two years, reading Ludger’s expressions has become a necessary skill. The boy never talks to anyone, his teachers say, and couldn’t Julius push him more at home, they ask? He does. He tries. Ludger has to learn to talk if he’s ever going to have any friends outside of his big brother. “Can you tell me what it is?” Julius asks again.

"It's obvious what it is," Ludger's face says, but really, Julius doesn't know. He can't recall Ludger ever giving him a present before, and not like this: an oversized, tangerine envelope with Julius's name scrawled on the front in lopsided, jaunty purple crayon. The flap is only partly sealed, stuck down in some places with clear tape and bubbling up in others, as if Ludger had sealed it and opened it back up innumerable times so that the glue wouldn't stick anymore.

"It's a card," mutters Ludger. 

Yes, Julius thinks, that much is obvious, and he opens his mouth to ask again--no, he did answer the question, technically. His brother will probably burst into tears if he asks him again. With a sigh, Julius opens up the envelope and withdraws the card. 

Well, he's sure there is a card in there somewhere, underneath the glued-on feathers and construction-paper stars, underneath the layers and layers of crayon wax and glitter; he's going to be washing that out of both their clothes for weeks. There's no announcement of any sort of occasion. Just a kaleidoscopic hurricane of marker and foam shapes and...glitter. So much glitter. For the first time, he catches sight of Ludger's fingertips, also sticky and smudged with the stuff.

"Gotta open it," Ludger whispers.

Julius obliges his little brother's request, silently pleading to whatever gods or spirits exist that the inside will not be loaded with glitter as well. Instead, a folded sheet of drawing paper falls to the floor, revealing a message written in the same impeccable 8-year-old handwriting, each letter alternating in color: "Happy Father’s Day, Julius." Actually, there seems to be another, more creative spelling of his name crossed out, with the correct one written below by a more sophisticated hand _(but in what universe could his name start with a Y?)._

When Julius looks up, Ludger is extending the unfolded paper to him. It's a drawing in crayon of what is undoubtedly the swing set next to their building, with a little boy, white mop of hair outlined in black, sitting on the swing overlooking the Trigleph skyline. The sky is streaked with orange and red swirling about a bright yellow blotch wearing sunglasses _(why would the sun be wearing sunglasses?)._ On the far right edge of the landscape stands another figure, tall and lanky, boxy glasses obscuring its face.

"Who’s this?" Julius asks. 

Ludger’s eyes fall downward.

“Is this you?” Julius tries again. Yes or no questions, at least, are foolproof.

Ludger nods.

"And this is me?"

"Teacher..." He stops, looks down at his hands, wiggles his toes inside his shoes. With a hard swallow, he starts again. "Teacher said to draw...our favorite memory with--with our dads. I like...I like waiting for you to come home on the swing set."

Something in Julius’s back jolts and stiffens. "You think I'm your father, Ludger?"

"No! No. I know I don't have a daddy, but Teacher said that was ok. Some other kids don't have daddies either. So...so she said we could make a card for whoever we wanted. And..." He takes a deep breath. "...She said you're just as much a daddy as my real one. ...I think so too. So...happy Father's Day."

Julius looks from the card to Ludger, and from Ludger to the card, before he can begin to comprehend Ludger’s words. At the end of his silence, he is no closer to understanding it. 

Blame genetics, he thinks; maybe the men of their family line aren't meant to ever grasp the meaning of fatherhood. Maybe no man is supposed to be able to understand fatherhood at age sixteen; Julius has realized many times over that he is almost the same age as when his father was when he conceived him, and each time the sensation of terror lingers a little longer, takes a little piece of Julius with it as it recedes from his thoughts. And those pieces return to Julius in the smallest of ways—in the leaps of his heart when he catches a white tuft of hair on the edge of his vision, or the strengthened curve of his jawline, or the way Ludger’s nose wrinkles when he cries, so much like his mother’s (Julius knows it is like his mother’s; yes, he looks so much like his mother when he cries; he recalls them crying side by side).

Ludger is upset. He can see it. He's been silent for far too long, and after Ludger has bared so much to him. Right now, Julius knows, his little brother doesn't deserve to bear his big brother's doubts. He doesn't deserve this silence. He doesn't deserve to suffer for things that happened before his time. Whether Julius understands it or not, the boy has chosen to see him as a father, and Julius will not question the logic of an eight-year-old who has formed that definition all of his own volition.

So Julius props the card near the television, the impact causing it to shed another layer of glitter on the surface, and scoops Ludger up into his arms. Ludger makes a small squeak of alarm and throws his hands around Julius's neck.

"Thank you, Ludger," Julius whispers.

"You're welcome," mutters Ludger.

"You wanna go swing?"

"Yeah."

Until Ludger's adolescence, the cards pile up in Julius's room, one every year. Julius never throws them away.

 

Twelve years later, Julius feels that same tickle in the crook of his neck as Ludger snuggles closer to him, a contented sigh breaking the morning stillness. "You awake?" Ludger murmurs.

"Mm," answers Julius. Even with his eyes closed, he can feel Ludger's smile against his bare skin. He suddenly feels the mattress shift, and then Ludger is sliding Julius's glasses onto his face and digging through the nightstand drawer. 

"I've got something for you," he says, retrieving a light blue envelope from the drawer and thrusting it into Julius's face. "Guess what day it is."

Julius blinks into the morning light. What day is it? he groggily thinks as he pulls out the card. He can feel Ludger's body quivering with contained laughter beside him.

"Happy Father's Day," the card announces. 

Julius feels his whole body go blank as Ludger erupts beside him.

"You ever think about how you're like, my brother, and also like my dad--"

"If you promise never to bring that up again while I'm naked in your bed, I promise I won't suffocate you with this pillow."


End file.
